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Date Posted: 23:18:05 04/22/01 Sun
Author: annaz
Subject: "Потерянный бортовой журнал" -- материал для перевода (англ. на русский)

Этот материал мне прислали друзья-ирланцы, выразив пожелание, чтобы русские люди смогли его прочитать, т.к. именно летом 2000 года произошла трагедия с подлодкой "Курск", они нам сопереживают и узревают в единение душ в наших бурно-протекающих жизненных циклах.

Одна из гланых целей существования проекта МАСТЕРСКОЙ -- это создание единого духовного пространства для людей, говорящих на разных языках. Поэтому, если кто-то осуществит перевод данного стихотворения, то он сделает первый шаг на этом сложном пути, или, по меньшей мере, попрактикуется в английском.

Сделанный перевод рекомендуется выслать мне для публикации на сайте annaz.nm.ru

Почтение,
Анна





THE MARINER’S LOST LOG
INTRODUCTION



On July 24, 2000, I went to bed at 11:30 p.m. and in that twilight space on the edge of sleep I saw what appeared to be the cabin of a wooden ship, and a man with white hair sitting at a wooden table, writing on paper with a quill. It seemed I looked through his eyes, and as I did, I visualized the enclosed poem. I started speaking it out loud, and my husband, Eugene, tape-recorded it as I spoke. When I was done, my husband asked "What is it called," and I replied, as I looked at the man’s script, "The Mariner’s Lost Log." He asked who wrote it, and I could only respond, "The man who wrote Amazing Grace." His name escaped me at that moment, so my husband went to our bookshelf, and looked it up in a hymnal. It said "John Newton, 1725-1807." The next day, July 25, 2000, my husband went to our local library and took out a biography on John Newton by the Rev. John Pollock of Devon, England, as well as several encyclopedia reports. I can only say I got chills when I saw that July 24 was John Newton’s birthday. These facts are true, and I give no explanation other than to state that I feel I was given a gift in the form of this work, and for it, I thank God.

Edythe Ledee










THE MARINER’S LOST LOG

As for this little room
Of sorrow and despair
I write the word triumphant
For I have had my share.

Though waves now crash and ocean roar
Though we be strewn upon her floor,
These words I write with quill and ink
Come true and free and cannot sink.
These words to which I now concede
Shall live through all eternity.
And in some distant time unseen
When Earth flies brown instead of green...
And dust shall be the ocean’s floor
My words shall live forevermore.
And well that moon doth haunt and hide
That doth both swell and level tide.
Crashing foam on some lone rock
Shall bear the future’s past and shock
‘Til time itself shall be no more
And all lies still on ocean floor.
Nor man nor mist shall see the land
That shall re-seed within God’s hand.
And I from here shall then look back...
The prince of all that I once sought.
Then with the ocean breeze my sighs
Shall join forever with the skies.
Nought here is lost nor waste of time;
The seekers find the scroll sublime.
And with reflections on the wave
I see how shallow is the grave.

What men believe their termination
Is just the body’s final station.
Now with timeless full-blown mast
Would I billow to the past
And like a gull returning home
Love and onward cheer my own.
No! Raging sea and ocean floor
Cannot close a final door.
Yea! Planet spin from green to brown!
Not even dust my words can drown.
For I shall leap from star to star...
All that is real is never far.
And in some distant age to be
When men walk where we cannot see,
If one should open my lost words
There in their midst shall I be heard.
And now with hair of wispy white
I wait to see my greatest sight
When bourne on wings of golden light
I reach my journey’s true delight
And soar away on distant thought
Enriched by all the truth I sought.
Until the tide no more shall flow
And never more the grasses grow
There in the midst of space and time
Shall we still find the word Divine.

The Lord who greatly loves us all
Guard your mind in slumber
As softly round your sleeping form
His loving angels hover.



Edythe Ledee for John Newton

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